


Miraculous Magic: Fourth Year

by spetember



Series: Miraculous Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spetember/pseuds/spetember
Summary: As the two Chosen Ones destined to defeat Hawkmoth, Marinette and Adrien navigate their lives at Hogwarts as the Triwizard Tournament nears. With the Dark Lord still looming over them, will the gang be able to survive the school year and muster up the courage to ask a date to the Yule Ball?Continuation of the Miraculous Magic series.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Plagg/Tikki (Miraculous Ladybug)
Series: Miraculous Magic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/776916
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Miraculous Magic: Fourth Year

*

*

*

**Chapter One: Summer**

The summer after Third Year at Hogwarts wasn’t an especially exciting one for Marinette. She had spent most of her time peacefully away from any action or adventure, fulfilling daily tasks every normal girl would be expected to do: helping her parents in their bakery, doing her chores, finishing her homework… Although, of course, her homework just happened to be about 14th century British witch burnings and healing potions, not trigonometry and Shakespeare. Somehow, she still hadn’t gotten used to magic, even after three years at Hogwarts. Almost a Fourth Year, she still felt a quiet, excited thrill each time she thought of spells and charms and — though much less so — potions.

Marinette had also started writing letters to her friends more, because the majority of them did not text or email, but instead used owls. Ruby, her faithful, elegant barn owl, quickly delivered each letter without much fuss, although she flew into quite the frenzy whenever Adrien’s snowy owl — named Jagged after the rockstar; who knew Adrien was secretly a dork? — trespassed on her territory, and Marinette had to soothe her with treats before getting back to her essay on Wendelin the Weird and her many, many burnings at the stake.

Yeah, just a normal summer.

That is, it started out that way, until Marinette finally managed to convince her parents to let her stay with the Lahiffes in the Burrow and watch the Quidditch World Cup, which, of course, they had been slightly reluctant to accept. She’d tried everything: chores around the house, compliments, sweet-talk. She’d even baked them a cake that said ‘PLEASE’. They wouldn’t budge. Even when the Lahiffes had sent an affectionate and reassuring letter — covered in far too many stamps — they were still reluctant.

“Mama, I promise you it’s absolutely going to be safe,” Marinette vowed for the hundredth time over a mixing bowl. The bakery’s business boomed over summer break, and they were running short on macarons. Marinette — with no ulterior motive, of course — offered to lend a hand, free of charge, no strings attached.

Sabine sighed, also for the hundredth time. “Marinette,” she started, “we love you, sweetheart. We just want to see you safe. And Quidditch — well, frankly, it sounds rather dangerous.”

“We’ve gone over this, _mon chou_ , now get back to mixing,” her father warned.

“Mama, I wouldn’t be doing any of the flying, it’s like watching a football match — oh, if you only agreed to meet Mr Lahiffe, you’d see! He’s one of the most responsible wizards I know,” she said proudly. Well, that much was true. Mr Lahiffe was indeed responsible, as far as wizards went — which probably wasn’t saying much. “I promise! Baker’s honour.”

“Sabine, maybe…” Tom started, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The pair stared hard at one another, as if sharing some telepathic message, and finally, _finally,_ looked at their daughter and nodded.

Marinette jumped with glee, knocking over the mixing bowl and sending almond flour absolutely everywhere, and ran to hug her parents. “Oh, Papa, Mama! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“On the condition that you stay with Mr Lahiffe and your friends at all times,” Tom said sternly, before affectionately ruffling her hair. “And no funny business, young lady.”

“Yes! Of course! Oh, thank you!”

Although she was overjoyed, Marinette also couldn’t blame her parents for not agreeing to let her go right away. Tom and Sabine didn’t know much about Quidditch, bar that Marinette had been a Chaser for Ravenclaw since Second Year, and that it was played on brooms high up in the air. Marinette had opted to leave out some of the gruesome details about Bludgers and how the Ravenclaw Team Captain had fallen off her broom last year during a match, since that would probably change their mind.

The young Chaser was over the moon. She’d eagerly been counting down the days until September first all summer, but now she had something even more exciting to look forward to. After gratefully kissing both parents on the cheek, she ran up to her room to scribbled Nino an ecstatic reply, confirming they could pick her up the following Sunday. She had never been to the Burrow before, and had only seen the Lahiffe family a few times while waiting for the Hogwarts Express, and she couldn’t wait to finally properly meet them. Adrien had raved about his visit to the Burrow last Christmas, and Marinette had been green with envy that they apparently had an enchanted Christmas tree, hundreds of mince pies, colour-changing fire in the fireplace, and fairy lights that floated around the house. Her family’s boring old tree was nothing in comparison, and even though it wasn’t Christmas anymore, she was eager to finally see Nino’s house for herself. She hadn’t even really met his siblings yet — of course, she’d seen them at King’s Cross Station, and knew the older ones from school, but she had never spoken to them much apart from that.

Marinette started packing for her trip that very day. The Lahiffes promised to ensure her trunk would be safe at the Burrow, so she didn’t need to worry about a thing. She packed her school robes up first, fresh and clean from the wash, and then her brilliant blue Quidditch uniform. The arm and leg pads had taken a bit of a beating during last year’s training, so she was determined to keep them in better shape this year. Luka Couffaine — one of the other Ravenclaw Chasers, Juleka’s older brother, and a fellow Jagged Stone fan — had promised to help her pick out a better kit from Spintwitches Sporting Needs in Hogsmeade. She was also determined to stop tripping over her own laces before every match, but that wasn’t looking quite as promising.

As she finished packing up her robes, Marinette reminisced with a smile how her love of Quidditch had all started. First Year, she really hadn’t enjoyed it so much, even though it was mandatory — mostly because Chloé Bourgeois, her least favourite Slytherin, wouldn’t stop teasing her each time she so much as looked at a broom. Sure, the idea of flying was super cool, but her lack of confidence coupled with Chloé’s remarks meant she would have gladly swapped Professor Damocles’ class for extra Potions with Plagg. She knew Nino and Adrien were both crazy about the sport, and of course she was proud of Adrien for managing to become a Seeker as a First Year, but she hadn’t really thought of it much beyond that.

Second Year was a different story — despite Alya, Sabrina, Mylène, and Rose being petrified when an Akumatized Juleka took cursed photographs of them, and Adrien and Marinette having to go down the secret passageway in the girls’ toilets, which unsurprisingly didn’t smell the best — she had decided to try out for the Ravenclaw team, and to her surprise, managed to become their new Chaser. Often she, Adrien, Nino and would go out after classes and practice together till nightfall. Come Third Year, Marinette was a natural on the broom, despite the Time Turner madness and another year of Akuma victims — not to mention their discovery of the Patronus Charm — and Quidditch practice became a regular part of her daily routine.

Thinking back now, Marinette realised just how action-packed her first three years at Hogwarts had been. Akumas, the Miraculous, duels, a whirlwind of danger and excitement. And yet, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. The powers she and Adrien shared, while secret, were so _magical_. No, magical was the wrong word for it. They went beyond that. Subconsciously, she touched her ruby-red earrings. With them, she was lucky, protected, _powerful_. And while she enjoyed regular magic just fine, the Miraculous were special. Not to mention the fact that Adrien and Marinette were supposedly the Chosen Ones. No biggie.

Yes, her school life had certainly been interesting so far.

Thinking of the Miraculous made her think of the ring, and thinking of the ring made her think of Adrien, and thinking of Adrien made her blush. His birthday passed just a few weeks ago — July 6th, marked with big red hearts on her calendar — and she’d sent him a lovingly-baked batch of chocolate croissants, a long letter, a handmade card, and a Broomstick Servicing Kit for his Firebolt. The one thing she’d neglected to include, much to Alya’s chagrin, was the love letter she had written way back in Second Year, bearing the confession she so longed to give him but was far too nervous to. It sat neglected in her dresser, shoved under a pile of books, unopened.

It wasn’t exactly Marinette’s fault. Every time she allowed herself to think of Adrien in _that_ way, her heart started to pound, blood rushed in her ears, and she couldn’t get out two words without jumbling them together and messing everything up. Usually, when it was just Marinette and Adrien — no awkwardness, no expectations — she could be herself, and she’d tease him for his lame puns and joke around like it was the most natural thing in the world. But every time she thought about confessing her true feelings, or he sat just a little too close, she froze. Compared to that, facing the Dark Lord Hawkmoth almost seemed like nothing.

With great care, she finished packing up her trunk, and loaded her backpack — her own design, which she’d stitched ever-changing stars and crescent moons and glowing suns onto — with essentials for camping at the World Cup: a few changes of clothes, a book to read in her spare time, and some snacks to share with her friends.

Marinette smiled while packing. She couldn’t wait to see them again. It was honestly a miracle that Adrien was even allowed to go — as far as she knew, his father was the coldest and strictest man in the entire wizarding world. Adrien had made it clear that he did not celebrate his own son’s birthday, or thought to spend any quality time with him, for that matter. Adrien must have begged and begged and begged all summer to convince his father to let him go. Or maybe it had something to do with the new modelling campaign he’d written to her about in his last letter. She knew now that Gabriel Agreste was a renowned designer — wizarding fashion, specifically — and Adrien often lamented him abusing his son’s fame as the one and only Boy Who Lived to sell clothes.

The girl sighed, glancing around her room. She’d finished most of her packing, save for the pictures of her friends that she had stuck up on the walls. Some of them were regular old photographs, while some of them were magical, moving entirely on their own. She had more than a few of Adrien — especially of his modelling, despite the fact that she knew he didn’t enjoy it, but he just looked so gorgeous in his father’s designs. She especially loved the one of him riding a Firebolt, wearing beautifully-crafted bottle-green robes his father had designed especially as a Quidditch World Cup promotion. It was funny how Gabriel had been so against Adrien joining the Quidditch team in First Year, and now he was marketing an entire Quidditch-related fashion line with his son’s face slapped on the cover.

And yes, it might’ve been a simple cash grab, but she didn’t care; the way the invisible wind blew Adrien’s soft blonde locks away from his face, and the way his eyes winked cheekily up at her, as if they shared some kind of secret, and his robes flowing behind him… Oh, Merlin, was that boy handsome. She could feel her face heat up all over again, and decided that that was enough packing for one day. Still blushing, she went to her desk, gave Ruby a stroke, and got back to her finishing her essay on Wendelin the Weird.

*

*

*

The week came and went, and Sunday finally arrived: the day the Lahiffes would pick her up and bring her to the Burrow. From Nino’s letter, it seemed Adrien and Alya had already arrived, and she couldn’t wait to see them again.

“Oh, Papa, you would _love_ Quidditch — I wish you could come to watch the World Cup!” Marinette exclaimed that morning over breakfast. She had been so excited all night that she had barely slept a wink, but she didn’t care: she was too ecstatic to feel tired. Her father was curiously skimming one of Marinette’s many Quidditch magazines, and seemed far less worried than her mother, who was pestering her daughter about her trunk and uniform and whether she had enough pairs of warm socks. Unaware of Sabine’s worries, Tom was marvelling at the moving photographs, in which the French Seeker was whizzing past towards the gleaming Snitch.

“We just want to know that you’re safe, Mari,” her mother started when her daughter assured her, for the tenth time, that _yes_ she had enough warm socks, and _no_ she didn’t need to pack any more food. “It’s all quite new, still, and — well — of course we _trust_ you. We just care about you, sweetheart, and we want to know you’re alright.”  
“I know, Mama,” Marinette said, finishing off her croissant and hoisting her backpack onto her lap to check she had everything for the third time that morning. Ruby’s cage and her trunk lay at her feet, while her wand, previously sitting idle in her desk drawer, was now securely in her pocket. “Don’t worry, we’ll be with Nino’s dad the whole time. And if you could ever find anyone more capable than him, I’ll eat my pointed hat.”

Sabine looked like she about about to reply when a loud bang startled Marinette out of her seat and her bag onto the floor, spilling some clothes and books onto the carpet. The family quickly turned towards the source of the noise — the fireplace? — and were startled to find a lanky, dark-haired boy wearing jeans and a bright blue shirt, now covered in soot and dust. Behind him was a tall man, just as lanky, with gold-flecked, smiling eyes, wearing quite shabby-looking robes.

“Merlin! My apologies. Let me just fix that,” the man said. The boy dusted himself off as the man pulled out his wand, gave it a flick, and instantly the dust and soot magically disappeared off their clothes and the nearby furniture. The boy was rubbing the back of his head.

“Hey, Marinette!” Nino said as he caught her eye, recovering quickly at the sight of his friend. “Sorry for that — I think I hit my head on your fireplace — I’ve never used yours before, it’s way smaller than I’m used to. Oh hey Mr and Mrs Dupain-Cheng! I’m—”

“Nino!” Marinette beamed and rushed to greet the Lahiffes, her bag and its contents temporarily forgotten. She enveloped Nino in a tight hug, both beaming from ear to ear. “I’m sorry our fireplace hit your head. Are you okay?”

Behind him, his father stepped out into the kitchen area. “Goodness, I’m sorry my son’s head hit your fireplace — Merlin’s beard!” Mr Lahiffe started to joke, but was soon distracted by the marvel of the lamp by the kitchen table. “Is this eclectic?” he said, and Marinette had to cover her mouth to muffle a giggle.

As Nino and Marinette caught up, Mr Lahiffe recovered from his moment of wonder and gave the Dupain-Chengs a firm handshake, and they slowly warmed up to him after the shock of their sudden arrival. “I just wanted to personally supervise Marinette, to make sure you know she’s safe,” Mr Lahiffe told the Dupain-Chengs, much to their relief. “But I must ask you, what is this called?” he asked suddenly, simply enthralled by their toaster. He was clearly delighted by the many Muggle items in their household, and even proudly proclaimed he collected “eclectic” plugs. At her parents’ questioning looks, Marinette could only give an affectionate smile.

“Mr Lahiffe works for the Ministry of Magic, in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department,” she told her parents, and they nodded, although they clearly didn’t know what that meant.

“Oh, of course,” Tom said with an attempt at an understanding smile. Marinette giggled.

“Well, more of an office than a department, really,” Mr Lahiffe added. “I would love to stay and chat — so many questions — but we really should get going if we’re going to get to Diagon Alley on time. Are you ready to leave, my dear? The fireplace is all ready. Here, I’ll take your things.”

Marinette gave both her parents a long hug and kisses on the cheek, while Tom and Sabine patted her hair and kissed her forehead.

“Write to us,” Sabine made her promise, and Marinette agreed, saying she’d write them both every week. With another quick hug, she took a step towards Nino. He went through the fireplace first, confidently exclaiming “The Burrow!” as the green flames shot into the living room, evaporating Nino in its bright flickers. Marinette stepped through after him, taking a deep breath and followed Nino’s example, clearly saying “The Burrow!” and watched as the familiar scene enveloped into green flames. Her parents waved, and their smiling faces morphed into a whirlpool of colours and shapes as she spun out of control. She held her arms closely at her sides, fearful she would hit something, as brilliant emerald flames whirled around her.

When Marinette opened her eyes again, as they’d been squeezed shut tightly — she did _not_ have a fondness for travelling by Floo Network — the first thing she saw was a grandfather clock with tiny portraits on it instead of the time. When she stepped out of the fireplace and into the living room, she saw Alya, Nino, and — her heart shot into her throat — Adrien, all there, smiling at her. Alya squealed and ran in for a hug, throwing her arms around Marinette so hard she nearly fell to the floor. Marinette squeezed tight. Seeing her best friend again felt as warm as the summer air.

“Mari!” Alya exclaimed. “Oh, I missed you!”

“I missed you too. I’m so excited for tomorrow,” she said. “I love what you’ve done to your hair!” she added, grinning as Alya showed off her dip-dyed orange ends. The new look suited her — it brought out the warm amber in her eyes.

“Thanks, girl. I thought, it’s Fourth Year, might as well try something new,” she was saying, but Marinette could barely focus on the words because she had met Adrien’s eyes, and he smiled at her, hesitantly stepping in for a hug. She gladly returned it, feeling her heart race again. He always had that effect on her.

Behind his back, Alya gave Marinette a knowing smile, and she blushed scarlet.

“It’s so good to see you again,” he said. “Thanks again for my birthday present — I love the kit. You should see how shiny my broom is now! It’s like new.”

Marinette beamed. “I’m glad you like it.” She then caught Mrs Lahiffe’s eyes, and quickly went to thank her for letting her stay with them, which she quickly assured her was no problem, that it was a pleasure to have Nino’s friends over. Mrs Lahiffe was a stout witch, with wild brown hair and a kind face, who smelled of cinnamon and had hugs as comforting as a hot cup of tea. His siblings — six of them, Marinette counted — all looked exactly like alternate versions of Nino, friendly smiles and dark brown hair, sitting around the living room.

They were definitely a family of Hufflepuffs.

Just then, Mr Lahiffe Apparated in front of them with Marinette’s bags and Ruby’s cage. He cheerfully set them aside. “Well, here you are, my dear! Welcome to our home.”

Marinette smiled, giving a quiet “thank you” as she marvelled at the living room. The Burrow was warm and cozy, and very lived-in. Bunches of herbs and plants were drying on the windowsills, while mismatched cups of tea and coffee and the remains of breakfast littered the kitchen table. The morning sunlight streamed in through the many windows, and the pleasant summer breeze had found its way in, cooling the air through the dry heat. It smelled like the apothecary in Diagon Alley: of dried sage and mint and cinnamon, and something else, something bittersweet, like bergamot. It was a cozy-looking house, not too big but not terribly cramped, with every nook and cranny put to good use: clocks, candles, pots, magazines, small boxes and bags and trinkets and magical-looking artefacts. There were small, handmade tapestries and doilies and throws on the couch and chairs and tables, and various rugs on the wood floor. More than anything, there were portraits and photographs of the family from all stages of life all over the room: on the walls, above the fireplace, on the bookshelves. It was a loving and welcome, and Marinette instantly felt right at home.

In fact, the Burrow would’ve almost looked like a Muggle house were it not for the copies of _Witch Weekly_ on the coffee table, or the pots and pans that appeared to be cleaning themselves in mid-air above the sink. It didn’t take away from the picturesque scene at all: if anything, magic made the whole house feel a little safer, a little warmer, a little more unique.

While she checked to make sure her bags and trunk were all intact, and that Ruby was comfortable, she went to the garden to let her out of her cage. She knew that if Ruby was trapped in her cage too long and didn’t get to explore the area, she’d get antsy, and when she was antsy she got nippy. Marinette marvelled at the garden for a moment — there were herbs and vegetables growing, a several trees bearing unusual fruit, with lush forests around them. Ruby hooted affectionately, swooping down to give Marinette a nuzzle, and flew off.

“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll take care of her and make sure all of your things get to Hogwarts safely,” Mrs Lahiffe reassured her. She then noticed a sleek pair of black leather trunks embellished with silver, holding the initials A.A., and what must be Alya’s bags behind them. “We’re going into Diagon Alley to pick up a few last-minute things for Nino, Genny, and Chris — he’s a First Year now, I still can’t believe it,” she sighed happily. “Do you need anything off your list, dear?”

Marinette shook her head. “No, thank you. I got everything at the beginning of the summer, just to be safe,” she said. Well, she’d bought mostly everything; there was one item on the list that she’d been working on all summer.

“Come on, Mari,” Nino said, patting her on the back to get her attention. “Let’s go outside, the weather’s great.”

She followed her friends to the garden, and for the rest of the day and well into the early evening, Nino, Alya, Adrien and Marinette enjoyed the late summer sun — and, to Nino’s dismay, completed a few chores in the garden as Mrs Lahiffe had instructed. This included weeding — who knew magical weeds and thistles ran away from you? — and ‘de-gnoming’, which, Mari soon found out, was no small task. For over an hour, the four of them were running all over the garden, tackling the small pests and getting progressively dirtier in the process. Covered in soil, sweaty and tired, but smiling ear to ear, the four of them went back inside when the sky turned dark and Mrs Lahiffe had called them in to get ready for dinner. Chris sat in an armchair in the living room, enchanted by his new wand, and he’d even started reading his new textbooks already. Marinette smiled, remembering how eager she’d been back in First Year.

After they had taken turns showering off the dirt and sweat, Nino led them up the rickety, zig-zagging staircases, up several floors, until they reached the attic. Truthfully, Marinette hadn’t really known what to expect from Nino’s bedroom — a mess, maybe — and was not surprised to find every inch of it covered in posters. Most of them were magical bands or singers, wizards and witches in bright robes that silently played guitars and winked at you. To her delight, there were also at least a dozen posters of Jagged Stone, including a huge one of his bedazzled silhouette over the bed, advertising the release of his newest album, which Marinette had gotten for her birthday last year. There were even a couple Muggle CDs and cassette tapes littering his shelves, and an ancient-looking stereo beside on his desk. In between the many posters were some pictures of his friends: Adrien and Nino by the Black Lake, Alya and Nino as kids, Nino, Adrien, and Marinette in their Quidditch uniforms beaming at the camera. She smiled. There wasn’t much floor space, given that three extra mattresses were squeezed in beside the bed, but it was a cozy little room, save for the clothes and food wrappers littering the floor.

“Honestly, Nino,” Alya said with a tone of disgust, kicking a pile of wrappers in the corner. “I told you to clean up before everyone arrived.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and Marinette thought she could see a distinct blush dusting his cheeks, and hastily turned to Alya, but she was too busy cleaning up the overflowing bin to notice. Adrien sat on the bed, skimming through the latest issue of a Quidditch magazine Nino read religiously, and she decided to join him while Nino and Alya bickered.

The bed squeaked when she sat. “That one’s cool,” she said, pointing over at one of the pictures — a Bulgarian Seeker in brilliant crimson robes.

“Krum? Yeah, he’s really good. Really young, too,” he said with admiration. “I wish we could see him play at the World Cup, but Bulgaria didn’t make it through.”

“Lost to France — really terribly — it’s a bloody shame for them,” Nino pitched in. “Not surprised, though, with Ivan Bruel as their Beater. Seeker isn’t too great, but Bruel’s a beast. France is going to dominate!”

At the mention of that name, Marinette suddenly realised that they would be watching him in the final tomorrow: France against Italy. She didn’t know much about the Italian team, but she was a huge fan of the French. Ivan Bruel was talented, too, especially since he was so young: he was only seventeen. It made her wonder whether it was possible for her to ever be good enough to play for France. If she wasn’t dead-set on becoming an Auror, she had to admit that she would love to play Quidditch professionally.

“Who d’you reckon will win tomorrow?” Adrien was asking, magazine forgotten. “France has a few really strong standout players, but Italy’s got better strategy.”

Marinette snorted, trying to make her heart to slow down with sheer power of will. He was so close she could smell his shampoo, lemony and fresh, and he still smelled faintly of soil and grass. “France, of course. No question.”

“Definitely,” he grinned.

“Especially with Ivan Bruel on our side,” she said. “With a Beater like that, they don’t stand a chance.”

He laughed, giving her a fist bump — or at least, trying to. She laughed when they tried and failed again, and he had to hold her fist steady with his other hand. “Pound it,” he said, putting on a serious voice, like he was a superhero or something, and Marinette giggled.

“Adrien! Mari! You two lovebirds coming down to eat, or what?” Alya asked, and Marinette blushed Gryffindor-red. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for, like, a minute.”

“We’re coming, Professor,” Adrien answered, giving Marinette an eye-roll directed at Alya, and she had to giggle again.

The four of them went down to dinner, and Marinette was amazed by the spread Mrs Lahiffe had prepared. The dining table — which had an extra table pushed in at the end, slightly lower than the first, and several chairs were squished in to make room for their guests — was lined with dozens of dishes piled high with food. The smell was heavenly. She scooped a big helping of chicken-and-mushroom pie, with roasted carrots, steamed broccoli, creamy mash, and great dollops of gravy.

As she ate, Marinette got acquainted with Nino’s siblings. Belle, the oldest, worked for Gringotts, and was possibly the coolest witch Marinette had ever met. She had short-cut, curly hair, with the sides shaved, and sported a single earring with a large fang on it. Marinette wondered what kind of animal it was from. The second eldest, Cerise, was equally cool: she was shorter and stockier, with well-defined arms, and several scars and burns across her skin. Nino had mentioned that one of his sisters worked with dragons, and Marinette was in awe. She had never even seen a real dragon before.

The twins, Freddie and Georgie, she knew from school, and though they were all Hufflepuffs, they were also renowned troublemakers. Marinette had no idea how Nino, the most laid-back, friendly person she knew, could be related to those relentless pranksters. They seemed to be speaking in a language all their own during dinner, and kept whispering and laughing amongst themselves.

By contrast, Nino’s younger sister, Genevieve — or Genny, as she preferred to be called — was bubbly and chatty, and Marinette knew from school that she was a talented witch. She was currently telling Marinette all about the potions she had been learning to brew over summer to help with the bruises and scrapes from Quidditch — she was nearly a Third Year now, and a Chaser for the Hufflepuff team. Marinette thought it must be nice for them to all be able to practice together at home when school was out.

After they had stuffed themselves and laughed and talked by the warm glow of the fireplace, Mrs Lahiffe produced a mouth-watering peach tart.

“I’m telling you, Mrs Lahiffe,” Marinette was saying, savouring her last spoonful, “if you opened up your own bakery, you just might put my parents out of business.”

“My mum’s restaurant, too,” Alya added, patting her full belly as evidence. “That was amazing. I may never get up again.”

“Oh, you girls flatter me,” Mrs Lahiffe laughed, while Mr Lahiffe cleared up the empty plates with a flick of his wand. His wife went to pick up her own wand from the table, when it suddenly turned into a large rubber mouse, and the twins burst into a fit of laughter. Mrs Lahiffe’s face went scarlet.

“Oh, you two! Always with these tricks of yours! Frédéric, Georgette, stop laughing and give me my wand!”

Chris, stifling a laugh himself, quickly handed his mother’s wand over, having snatched it from the twins under the table. His mother gave a sigh and patted her youngest on the head.

“Now, you four had better get an early night’s sleep: you’ll have to wake up very early to get to the Portkey tomorrow morning,” she reminded them.

“The what?” Mari asked, clearly confused, and Mr Lahiffe gave her an understanding smile.

“A Portkey, my dear!” he announced, then explained: “Portkeys are ordinary objects that have been enchanted — anything mundane, say, a stray boot, or a can, or even a pen! — that, when touched at a very specific point in time, while transport you instantly to a pre-determined location. Since Floo Network is unavailable, and we don’t have enough brooms between us — and, of course, none of you are old enough to Apparate yet — we’ll be using a Portkey to get to the World Cup. They’ve been planted everywhere; the nearest one is quite a trek away.”

“Where exactly _is_ the World Cup?” Alya asked.

“Why, this year, it’s somewhere near the French border, I believe,” Mr Lahiffe answered. “A remote location, of course; quite safe. No Muggles will find us there. It’s all got to do with controlling traffic — if too many wizards and witches arrive at the same time, ticket control and security will have an absolute nightmare on their hands — not that security isn’t hellish to begin with, of course, it’s always in absolute shambles by the end of it — but of course, the Department of Magical Games and Sports are very well-funded, so it never should be much of an issue. But with such a huge amount of people coming to watch, I guess you can never be prepared enough…”

While Mr Lahiffe was droning on, Nino slumped in his chair, stuffed full of food and too tired to listen to everything he already knew. Adrien and Alya were nodding politely, and Marinette was intently listening to every word. She knew very little about the Ministry besides what she’d read about in books and learned from her friends, which honestly wasn’t a whole lot. From Mr Lahiffe’s points, the World Cup sounded like a huge ordeal on their end; it made her quite glad that she wouldn’t have to worry about the bureaucracy of things. She couldn’t wait to witness it all in person.

A cup of tea later, Mrs Lahiffe ushered all the children into their beds. Giddy and sleepy at the same time, the four crept into bed. Marinette’s heart raced with Adrien so close to her. She met his brilliant green eyes, luminescent in the dark, and his face softened.

“Good night, my lady,” he said, his affectionate nickname for her.

Marinette managed to stutter out a response — what exactly she said, she had no idea, but it sounded like “night good!” — and ducked her head under the cover, trying to stop a blush from blooming over her cheeks.

 _Good luck trying to get to sleep after that,_ she thought.

*

*

*

Opening one eye against the harsh candlelight, Marinette took back all her excitement from the night before. She was decidedly not a morning person to begin with, and waking up at the crack of dawn, even by a well-meaning Mrs Lahiffe and the promise of breakfast, was the single most difficult task all summer. Groggy, weary and cold, she slowly got out from under the covers only to find that everybody else was already downstairs. She rushed to get dressed and tip-toed down the zig-zagging staircase, creaking with every step.

“Quite the heavy sleeper,” Mr Lahiffe remarked with a good-natured chuckle over his coffee. Marinette had no idea how he was so cheerful so early in the morning. At least the breakfast looked delicious: scrambled eggs, sausages, oranges and croissants. When Marinette asked for a cup of coffee with a yawn, Mrs Lahiffe looked surprised, but she enchanted a mug her way, followed by the milk and sugar.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Alya greeted with a laugh, and Adrien smiled in amusement, but Marinette was too tired to respond, so she grunted. She then dunked her croissant in her coffee and took a bite, much to Nino’s disgust.

After breakfast was finished and they hastily packed up a few last-minute bits and pieces for the journey, Mr Lahiffe bid the children to follow him — which included Marinette, Alya, Adrien and Nino, as well as the trouble-making twins, Freddie and Georgie, followed closely by Genny. Apparently, Belle and Cerise would be missing the World Cup this year — Cerise had hinted last night at a big project she was working on, though what kind of project had dragons, Marinette had no idea, and Belle was off to Egypt for work.

It was still dark outside when the group made their way out the house, through the garden, and onto a small dirt path through the forest. Mr Lahiffe lit the way with Lumos, stopping occasionally to count their number, until the sun rose and the sky turned milky and bright. They climbed over hills and jumped a few small brooks. Genny slipped and nearly fell into the water, had Adrien not caught her hand, and the young Hufflepuff stuttered a “thank you,” blushing red for the remainder of the walk.

Finally, when they had reached a grassy clearing, Mr Lahiffe gathered them in a circle until they were all stood around an old, dented bowler hat. It smelled horrible, and Marinette almost didn’t want to touch it. It almost reminded her of a hat she had designed years ago, with feathers in it.

“That’s the Portkey?” Alya asked, obviously unimpressed.

“Yep!” Mr Lahiffe said cheerfully, taking out his watch and carefully looking at the time. “Almost seven o’clock! We have precisely one minute until we can depart. Now remember, all of you must keep holding on to the Portkey, no matter how nauseating it might be at first. Everyone’s first time is a little wobbly,” he clarified. “But it’s quick and efficient, shouldn’t be any problem! Oh, oh, everyone, hold on tight…”

Everyone held onto the rim of the hat, while Mr Lahiffe counted down. “Alright, five… four… three…”

A moment passed when nothing happened, and Marinette was about to speak up, when suddenly her stomach lurched and the whole world spun wildly out of control. She gripped the edge of the hat tightly, willing herself to hold on for deal life, and couldn’t suppress a scream. Everyone else seemed to be screaming too, except for Mr Lahiffe, who looked as calm and cheerful as ever. Marinette couldn’t think, couldn’t process what was happening, could only hold onto the hat while they swirled around in a giant confusion of a tornado. The sky seemed to surge downwards while they hurtled towards the ground at frightening speed, and Mr Lahiffe yelled at them to “peddle with your legs!” but Marinette could only see the grassy ground down below, and squeezed her eyes closed in panic, bracing for the fall.

They hit the grass, and Marinette lay there, her backpack forgotten, gasping for breath.

Portkeys were definitely worse than the Floo Network.

While the rest of the group slowly got to their feet and dusted themselves off, looking a little worse for wear, Mr Lahiffe smiled at them.

“We’ve made it, everyone! Look over there,” he announced, pointing over the hill they’d landed on. With some trouble, Marinette got to her feet, brushing the dirt and grass off her jeans, and followed the grand sweep of his arm into the horizon. She couldn’t contain a gasp of amazement when she saw the hundreds, if not thousands of wizards and witches, all in festive-looking robes of different colours, bustling with activity and weaving through each other for what seemed like miles in each direction. Hundreds of tents, in all shapes and sizes, dotted the grassy plane, like a small cloth suburbia, along with cauldrons, brooms, and extravagant magical displays of support for either the Italian or French teams — multi-coloured fireworks, shimmering flags that waved in mid-air, miniature brooms that whizzed rapidly up and down and spelled out a player’s name.

“Wow,” was all she could say.

“Wow is right!” Mr Lahiffe beamed. “Come on, let’s go, we’ve got to get through security. Lord knows the wait will be long, we’ve gotten here quite late, but it can’t be helped. You’ll all have to help pitch the tents once we’ve found somewhere to camp for the night — a friend of ours in the Department of Magical Games and Sports promised to reserve a prime spot, but you know how these Ministry characters are…”

And Marinette and her friends followed Mr Lahiffe down the grassy hill, all nausea and tiredness forgotten, energised by the spectacular scene before them and the promise of the most memorable Quidditch match they’d ever see.

*

*

*


End file.
